Classical Literature
 
Search:
Emily Dickinson
Poems, Series 2
Preface
Prelude
I. I'm nobody! Who are you?
II. I bring an unaccustomed wine
III. The nearest dream recedes, unrealized.
IV. We play at paste
V. I found the phrase to every thought
VI. Hope.
VII. The White Heat.
VIII. Triumphant.
IX. The Test.
X. Escape.
XI. Compensation.
XII. The Martyrs.
XIII. A Prayer.
XIV. The thought beneath so slight a film
XV. The soul unto itself
XVI. Surgeons must be very careful
XVII. The Railway Train.
XVIII. The Show.
XIX. Delight becomes pictorial
XX. A thought went up my mind to-day
XXI. Is Heaven a physician?
XXII. The Return.
XXIII. A poor torn heart, a tattered heart
XXIV. Too Much.
XXV. Shipwreck.
XXVI. Victory comes late
XXVII. Enough.
XXVIII. Experiment to me
XXIX. My Country's Wardrobe.
XXX. Faith is a fine invention
XXXI. Except the heaven had come so near
XXXII. Portraits are to daily faces
XXXIII. The Duel.
XXXIV. A shady friend for torrid days
XXXV. The Goal.
XXXVI. Sight.
XXXVII. Talk with prudence to a beggar
XXXVIII. The Preacher.
XXXIX. Good night! which put the candle out?
XL. When I hoped I feared
XLI. Deed.
XLII. Time's Lesson.
XLIII. Remorse.
XLIV. The Shelter.
XLV. Undue significance a starving man attaches
XLVI. Heart not so heavy as mine
XLVII. I many times thought peace had come
XLVIII. Unto my books so good to turn
XLIX. This merit hath the worst
L. Hunger.
LI. I gained it so
LII. To learn the transport by the pain
LIII. Returning.
LIV. Prayer.
LV. I know that he exists
LVI. Melodies Unheard.
LVII. Called Back.
I. Choice.
II. I have no life but this
III. Your riches taught me poverty
IV. The Contract.
V. The Letter.
VI. The way I read a letter's this
VII. Wild nights! Wild nights!
VIII. At Home.
IX. Possession.
X. A charm invests a face
XI. The Lovers.
XII. In lands I never saw, they say
XIII. The moon is distant from the sea
XIV. He put the belt around my life
XV. The Lost Jewel.
XVI. What if I say I shall not wait?
I. Mother Nature.
II. Out of the Morning.
III. At half-past three a single bird
IV. Day's Parlor.
V. The Sun's Wooing.
VI. The Robin.
VII. The Butterfly's Day.
VIII. The Bluebird.
IX. April.
X. The Sleeping Flowers.
XI. My Rose.
XII. The Oriole's Secret.
XIII. The Oriole.
XIV. In Shadow.
XV. The Humming-Bird.
XVI. Secrets.
XVII. Who robbed the woods
XVIII. Two Voyagers.
XIX. By the Sea.
XX. Old-Fashioned.
XXI. A Tempest.
XXII. The Sea.
XXIII. In the Garden.
XXIV. The Snake.
XXV. The Mushroom.
XXVI. The Storm.
XXVII. The Spider.
XXVIII. I know a place where summer strives
XXIX. The one that could repeat the summer day
XXX. The Wlnd's Visit.
XXXI. Nature rarer uses yellow
XXXII. Gossip.
XXXIII. Simplicity.
XXXIV. Storm.
XXXV. The Rat.
XXXVI. Frequently the woods are pink
XXXVII. A Thunder-Storm.
XXXVIII. With Flowers.
XXXIX. Sunset.
XL. She sweeps with many-colored brooms
XLI. Like mighty footlights burned the red
XLII. Problems.
XLIII. The Juggler of Day.
XLIV. My Cricket.
XLV. As imperceptibly as grief
XLVI. It can't be summer, -- that got through
XLVII. Summer's Obsequies.
XLVIII. Fringed Gentian.
XLIX. November.
L. The Snow.
LI. The Blue Jay.
I. Let down the bars, O Death!
II. Going to heaven!
III. At least to pray is left, is left
IV. Epitaph.
V. Morns like these we parted
VI. A death-blow is a life-blow to some
VII. I read my sentence steadily
VIII. I have not told my garden yet
IX. The Battle-Field.
X. The only ghost I ever saw
XI. Some, too fragile for winter winds
XII. As by the dead we love to sit
XIII. Memorials.
XIV. I went to heaven
XV. Their height in heaven comforts not
XVI. There is a shame of nobleness
XVII. Triumph.
XVIII. Pompless no life can pass away
XIX. I noticed people disappeared
XX. Following.
XXI. If anybody's friend be dead
XXII. The Journey.
XXIII. A Country Burial.
XXIV. Going.
XXV. Essential oils are wrung
XXVI. I lived on dread; to those who know
XXVII. If I should die
XXVIII. At Length.
XXIX. Ghosts.
XXX. Vanished.
XXXI. Precedence.
XXXII. Gone.
XXXIII. Requiem.
XXXIV. What inn is this
XXXV. It was not death, for I stood up
XXXVI. Till the End.
XXXVII. Void.
XXXVIII. A throe upon the features
XXXIX. Saved!
XL. I think just how my shape will rise
XLI. The Forgotten Grave.
XLII. Lay this laurel on the one
Emily Dickinson » Poems, Series 2 » IV. We play at paste

We play at paste,
Till qualified for pearl,
Then drop the paste,
And deem ourself a fool.
The shapes, though, were similar,
And our new hands
Learned gem-tactics
Practising sands.



INTERNET RESOURCES
 + Web Site Design
 + Free Technology Articles
 + Free Finance Articles
Home | Features | Get It Now | Links | Contact

 
 
 
RANDOM AUTHOR

William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) was born to John Shakespeare and mother Mary Arden some time in late April 1564 in Stratford-upon-Avon. There is no record Mary Arden some time in late April 1564 in Stratford-upon-Avon.


Page loaded in 1.650 seconds